


all the days of my warfare would I wait, till my release should come

by sartiebodyshots



Series: The Unspoken Tomb [2]
Category: The Serpent Gates - A. K. Larkwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lyctors, Canon-Typical Violence, Eye Horror, Gen, M/M, Self harm vibes kind of, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, depression vibes definitely, like from the locked tomb, self destructive might be a better word, unhealthy everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: It's Talasseres who starts it, of course.  Talasseres starts everything.(Csorwe and Talasseres locked in with God for ten thousand years.  What could go wrong?)
Relationships: Belthandros Sethennai & Csorwe, Belthandros Sethennai/Oranna (implied), Belthandros Sethennai/Talasseres Charossa, Csorwe & Talasseres Charossa, Daryou Malkhaya/Talasseres Charossa (minor)
Series: The Unspoken Tomb [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990414
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	all the days of my warfare would I wait, till my release should come

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back on my own bullshit!! I love them.
> 
> Title from Job 14:14.

After obtaining lyctorhood, they spend thousands of years establishing the Houses of the King Undying's empire, fighting his enemies, and just generally having a time. They lose each other one by one, mostly to the Resurrection Beasts, whittling their number down and down, until they’re trapped in their Mithraeum together.

It's Talasseres who starts it, of course. Talasseres starts everything. 

Csorwe is walking to her room, past the empty rooms of her fallen and absent brothers and sisters, when everything goes white. It takes her half a minute to reorient herself, but then she realizes that a bomb of bones has gone off. 

The bone shards fall out of her, plinking to the ground in the strange quiet after the attack as her body heals itself. She looks around for the source of the attack to find Talasseres watching her impassively. 

"I thought it'd be good to watch you get blown up," Talasseres says flatly. "I thought it'd feel good."

Csorwe never took to her necromancer's abilities quite like Tal did, so she responds by walking up to him and stabbing him through the heart. He makes a paltry attempt to stop her by grabbing the blade of her two hander, but that just mean more of his blood joins hers on the floor.

His hands are healed before the blade pierces out his backside, and she stands there like that with him for a long moment. His ears are twitching and his eyes are wide, not quite in shock, but in something new altogether. She stares into those eyes for a long moment, realizing that this is the closest she's been to another being in at least two thousand years. She could rip his throat out with her teeth if the concept wasn't viscerally disturbing to her. 

Talasseres makes the strangest of gurgling noises as his body tries to heal itself around the blade still stuck through his chest. He struggles for breath on instinct, and there was a time that Csorwe would've taken some sort of joy from watching him hurt at her hand, but it's been awhile since she's taken much joy in anything.

"Saint of Blandness," Csorwe says quietly. 

She knows it drives him mad, to be stuck with that title for eternity. It would've been kinder and more accurate to call him the Saint of Being A Piece of Shit. 

Talasseres lunges forward, driving the blade deeper within himself. He strikes out with one blood covered hand, clawing at her face. Bony spurs burst out of his fingertips to rake across her face, sharp pain that is something, at least. It's something. 

His blood stained hand presses to her sternum. She's looking into his eyes as the bone spurs of his fingertips lengthen and shove their way into her chest. The bright bursts of pain shoot through her. 

They both stand there, a morbid tableau of blood and guts and agony. 

A lung falls out the back of her body with a thud and a new one slowly grows into place, skin growing around the bone of Talasseres' hand. 

"How much longer can we survive like this?" Csorwe mumbles.

Talasseres gives her a cold grin that's cracked around the edges. "I don't know if we've survived this long."

He lets the bone break off in her chest and pulls himself off of her sword. Not even a minute later, he looks just as he did before, except for the blood covering his body and the hole in his shirt. 

"You're a piece of shit," Csorwe calls out half heartedly as he turns away.

He flicks her off and continues down the hall. 

They are babies and they don’t even realize it.

They try to kill each other on a regular basis after that. Maybe kill each other isn't the right word.

Nothing that they do to each other could ever actually kill a lyctor, and they rarely fight in pitched battle with the full skill they both possess. Instead, they take turns ambushing each other and taking their time with hurting each other. 

If God knows about it, he doesn't let on. Csorwe would bet that he does know, if only because Belthandros knew everything even before he reached divinity. It'd be foolish to touch divinity and become less than what you were before.

The King Undying is no fool.

* * *

Eventually, there were three lyctors and God, living together in their personal hell. Oranna was the final saint to serve the King Undying. It was unspoken fact that she could've easily been the first, but she wasn't so sure about being a servant to Belthandros Sethennai, even if he had become God. So great were her doubts that she was the last of his servants, though certainly not the least.

Csorwe liked her, honestly. She was someone other than Talasseres still left standing, and for reasons quite above her understanding, Tal hated her more than he hated Csorwe.

Until, of course, That Day. That's what the three of them remaining called it: That Day. 

Although, honestly, they never spoke of it at all. 

They were all having dinner together. This was the custom that God demanded, that they have dinner together at least once a week when they were altogether. If they were with the Cohort, but together, they were still supposed to eat together at least once weekly.

Csorwe followed this command when with Oranna. Talasseres refused to follow this command with her, and she certainly wasn't going to fight hard to spend more of her perpetual life with Tal. 

Anyway:

They were all eating dinner together: God at the head of the table, Csorwe right beside him. Talasseres had gotten to the table early enough that he was seated at God's other hand, and that left Oranna to choose which of the other two lyctors to sit beside. To Csorwe's surprise and her brother's obvious distaste, she picked to sit beside Talasseres. 

It was a normal enough dinner when the room went white again. For a second, she thought that Talasseres had launched one of their regular assaults, but they had never done it right in front of God before. Talasseres would do a lot of dumb shit, but not that.

Then she realized that she couldn't move. Something bound her to her seat, toppled over as it was. It was a truly ridiculous position to be in, frozen to an uncomfortable chair with her hands and legs bound to said uncomfortable chair, staring up at the ceiling. 

There should have been noise, but there was nothing but her fighting against the bonds. They were bone, but for some reason, Csorwe couldn't manipulate them as she should have been able to.

She kept fighting against the grip of bone, trying to reach out for something with her necromancy to no avail. 

Eventually and for no reason that she could determine, the bone shackles dropped their hold and the ability to hear came rushing back. Talasseres was screaming somewhere that she couldn't see, wordless anger and hurt.

When she managed to get to her feet, Oranna was gone and so was God. Talasseres was on his feet and throwing the remains of dinner at the wall.

"Tal! Where is God?" Csorwe yelled so loud it made her lungs hurt, to shut him up. 

Talasseres kept screaming and throwing food, so Csorwe climbed over the table and punched him in the face. His head snapped back, but at least he stopped screaming. 

"She. Took. Him," Talasseres said.

There were tears forming at the corners of their eyes, and they both pretended that there weren't. 

"Oranna?" Csorwe asked.

"Who else, you complete buffoon?" Talasseres yelled.

Csorwe punched him in the face again, just because she could.

* * *

Daryou Malkhaya is the sixth saint to obtain lyctorhood. He is average in most ways, except attractiveness. Or maybe Talasseres finds him attractive because he is so lonesome, which is a fair assessment of everything. 

The Saint of Dedication sits firmly in the sights of the Saint of Blandness, and it doesn't take long for him to succumb. 

There's not much else to do on the Mithraeum and Talasseres can be very persuasive when it comes to getting men into bed with him. 

One time, God walks in on them fucking. Where most people would apologize for their intrusion, he just stands in the doorway, watching them with a detachment that burned at what was left of Talasseres' heart. 

Malkhaya has his back to the door so he doesn't see God lingering there. Talasseres dedicates himself to putting on a show, but God leaves before the show is done, leaving Talasseres feeling sad for reasons he refuses to examine.

(Of course he loves God! That's what you're supposed to do when you're a saint: love God.)

Csorwe also walks in on them in one of the training rooms one day. It's a great place to fuck because there are plenty of bones and constructs to help keep things interesting, and it's soundproof so Talasseres can scream without worrying about anyone hearing him. 

Sometimes, he comes down here alone to take advantage of that last thing in private.

"Oh, gross," Csorwe says, ducking behind the door frame so she doesn't have to look at them. "Other people use these rooms!"

Malkhaya jumps away from Talasseres, starting to put his clothes back on, and Talasseres curses Csorwe for ruining yet another thing. 

"Sorry about that, Csorwe. We just got away from ourselves," Malkhaya says as he hurries out the door, now fully dressed. He turns back to mouth to Talasseres, "See you later."

Talasseres only does Csorwe the kindness of pulling up his pants because she, quite frankly, doesn't deserve to see his dick. When she peers around the corner and see him still shirtless and sweaty, but with pants on, she enters the room properly. She pulls a disgusted face at him, though. 

"If you would get laid at some point, you wouldn't be so shocked that the rest of us fuck, too," Talasseres says. 

Csorwe makes a construct from bones and slashes it with her sword. It regenerates but she's sloppy about it, which Talasseres decides is the greatest crime in the world. She's never been into finesse. 

Talasseres seats himself on the ledge he was previously bent over. Now that his chance of getting off is ruined, the next best thing is to annoy Csorwe.

"I bet Oranna would fuck you if you asked," Talasseres says, even though the thought of Csorwe as even a vaguely sexual being is the most disturbing thing he can imagine. 

Csorwe swings her sword and misses the construct completely, nearly cutting through her own leg in the process. Damn, so close. 

"Go away," Csorwe says. 

Talasseres swings his legs back and forth, feigning blitheness he's never felt in his whole wretched existence. 

"Do you know how to get someone to fuck you, Csorwe?" Talasseres asks, pronouncing her name just a bit wrong on purpose because he knows it annoys her. "Probably not. It's really not that hard. I bet even you could do it, at least close enough for Oranna to get the hint."

Normally, he would've fucked off by now because the concept of Csorwe having sex is truly horrifying, but it'd be nice if someone had Oranna's attention other than God. Sometimes, she'll smirk at him from God's side in a way that makes him sure that she can see right to the rotten core of devotion within him. 

It's not a surprise when the dagger sings through the air and pierces his eye. He could dodge out of the way, but he lets Csorwe have her fun. A knife in the eye is better than looking at Csorwe with both eyes anyway. 

"Shut up," Csorwe says.

"God will still love you if you let Oranna fuck you," Talasseres continues with the knife in his eye. 

He sighs as another knife finds his shoulder. It still hurts. It feels good. 

They face each other for a long moment, and Talasseres can feel the hate flickering between them. It's a bright, tangible force that Talasseres almost feels affection for. 

"I hope you die next," Csorwe says.

She crosses the space between them. First, she pulls out the knife from his shoulder. Then, she pulls the knife from his eye with a sick squelch. It's funny how careful she is to avoid touching his bare skin, even as she wipes the blades clean on his arm. 

"I hate you, too," Talasseres says to her retreating back. “I hated you first.”

* * *

"Talasseres, get your ass in here," Csorwe yelled.

She knelt beside God's unconscious form. It was strange to see God so vulnerable. God had never been vulnerable, even in mortality. Belthandros had refused vulnerability.

"Oh fuck!" said the Saint of Blandness as he came barreling into the room. "Why isn't he waking up?"

"Like I know?" Csorwe said desperately. 

"He should be awake!" Talasseres said, feeling around for a pulse. 

"I know that," Csorwe said. 

“He’s dead. Oranna killed God.”

They knelt together, heads bowed over the dead body of God. For once, they were not bickering but united in divine purpose.

The two remaining livingdead saints placed their hands on their god's chest and willed his livingdead heart to beat in his chest once more. 

* * *

Talasseres is God's second saint, his eyes and his hands and his gestures.. After about fifteen hundred years, he becomes God's dick, too. 

It's easy, surprisingly easy, to fall in bed with him. Talasseres has imagined it since even before Belthandros became God. It's pitiful, how he runs after God, and he knows this and chooses to ignore it.

"One of the Resurrection Beasts made an appearance on the border- the one that killed Malkhaya," Talasseres says. "I think we have a shot at it this time."

As soon as he talks, he cringes internally. Somehow even after all this time, Belthandros makes him feel off kilter. It's not fair. 

"I'm sure we'll come up with a stunning plan," the King Undying says.

Talasseres comes so he's standing on God's side of the desk, and God looks up at him with a look of bemused surprise. It would be insulting from anyone but Belthandros. 

"Can I help you, Talasseres?" God asks.

And for once, Talasseres helps himself. He takes God's beautiful face between his hands, admires it. God's lips are parted just so, and Talasseres runs his thumb over the bottom lip. 

He wants to remember this moment for eternity and he does. Even in ten thousand years, he will remember this moment that is as close to perfect as Talasseres has ever had in absolute clarity. 

Talasseres closes the gap between them and kisses God. He presses his mouth to God's mouth, and Talasseres is the furthest thing from a blushing virgin imaginable, but he feels the heat spread throughout his body just from this. 

God's hands are gripping his thighs tight, and Talasseres pulls him closer. He wants to lose himself in God, to be consumed by this. By him. He's always wanted to be consumed by Belthandros. 

This is the first of many times that Talasseres fucks God over his desk. He fucks and is fucked by God in almost every room of the Mithraeum except the other lyctors’ rooms and the crypts. 

After Oranna makes Her dramatic exit, they even fuck in Her room. Whenever they do, it always hurts in pretty much every conceivable way and ways that Talasseres hadn't considered before now. Talasseres generally enjoys fucking, particularly fucking God, but he doesn't enjoy fucking God in Her bedroom. 

But God takes him back there anyway, and Talasseres lets him because he's the saint of devotion, no matter what his official title is. 

* * *

Talasseres gave a count and then they both tried to restart God's heart with their necromancy. They didn't know if this was a thing that they could do, but they tried anyway, bound together in their desperation. 

"Belthandros, get your ass back here," Talasseres said. "Get your ass back here; we need you."

There were tears on Csorwe's cheeks, and he was crying too. It was strangely right that they should be here together. He hated her for a lot of reasons, but he couldn’t doubt her devotion to God. 

Billions of years away, a star was burning out. Things were going dark, and they should be making plans to evacuate those few who would survive the initial cataclysm unfolding. 

He made eye contact with Csorwe and knew they were on the same page. They were going to bring God back or die trying. 

"If you siphon my thalergy, and I siphon your thalergy, we might be able to shove it into Sethennai and jump start his system," Talasseres said.

"We might just kill each other," Csorwe said. “There’s no theorem for this to make sure it’s done right.”

"I know," Talasseres agreed. Either of them could go too far to eliminate the other, whether accidentally or on purpose. "We have to do it voluntarily. If we're fighting each other, there's no way enough thalergy gets back to God."

"Fucking fine," Csorwe spit.

Csorwe held out her hand, and Talasseres took it. They gripped each other tightly, Talasseres convinced the stupid oaf was trying to break his hand. 

Talasseres ripped the thalergy from Csorwe's body. There wasn't a way to do it gently, which was funny because Talasseres would have done this gently. It was for God, so he would have done it gently. 

They united in screaming agony. It felt like Csorwe had peeled the layers of his skin with a knife and then dumped salt into the wound of his entire body. He could see the bright burning core of her, where Taymiri's spirit powered her lyctorhood.

If Talasseres had been consciously aware of it, he would have been annoyed once more that the person that he got stuck with forever was Csorwe. At least Taymiri had been fun. Taymiri would have fucked Oranna when Tal tried to put her up to it.

He siphoned every bit of Csorwe that he could without killing her, and he could feel her emptying him. It was a new agony every half second, and all he could do was focus on the closed eyes of God. That was why he was putting himself through this agony and through the embarrassment of vulnerability. For God. 

A secret awful part of him hoped that God would be grateful for this.

He passed out so quickly and suddenly that he didn't even have the chance to make sure he fell away from Csorwe.

* * *

Csorwe practices with her blade. Csorwe gets so dang bored that she practices with every weapon the Cohort ever issued and she is the best with most of them. Csorwe keeps practicing until she is the best with all of them, except guns.

"Those are nastily inefficient weapons," God says when he peers in on her in the training room. "Loud and messy, too."

Csorwe merely becomes proficient with guns.

"Can't I go to the front to fight?" Csorwe asks. "My talents would be in best service to you there, my lord."

"Eight thousand years and you're still so formal," God says with a sigh. "You're a wonderful fighter and my devoted saint, so why are you so eager to flee from me?"

"It's not you I want to flee from," Csorwe says under her breath before speaking up. "I want to serve you best."

A smile crosses God's face, and she's sure he heard her first utterance. Well, her and Talasseres' mutual hatred had never been a secret.

"She is seeking divinity of Her own," Sethennai says. There's only one She he could be referring to. They never say Oranna's name. "I need my saints by my side in the event that we find where She is."

Csorwe's eyes widen as she tries to imagine it. Another god. Oranna as a god. A horrifying concept. 

"I have only told you this, and I would appreciate your discretion," God says.

"I am your servant," Csorwe says. 

There is a soft glow in her chest; God trusted her! God trusted her and did not trust Tal. Glorious.

* * *

Talasseres woke up and couldn't so much as open his eyes. He hadn't experienced weakness since becoming a lyctor; he hadn't experienced weakness like this even when he was mortal. 

His breath came in haggard, shallow breaths. He had to strain to get his diaphragm to do its nasty work of keeping him alive. 

There was a nasty, pitiful whine in his ears, and he realized it was him making that noise. He wanted more than anything to stop making this noise, but he couldn't unless he stopped breathing. 

The next time he woke up, he managed to open his eyes. It took more effort than Talasseres would ever admit, but he opened his eyes to see the bland grey ceiling of the dining room. 

There was someone else in the room with him: another person breathing in agony. He knew it was Csorwe because they were the only saints left now, but he pretended that it was God because he wanted God to watch over him. 

* * *

Talasseres is captured by Oranna's forces once. They don't even know that Oranna has forces of Her own, not for sure.

They bring him to Her, injected full of some sort of drug that makes him feel slow and sleepy. He hadn't known this could be done to a lyctor. 

She stands when he is brought before him. 

"Sethennai is a charismatic force, disgustingly so," Oranna says. "It was sad, watching you fall over yourself for him. Poor, unwanted Talasseres."

The drugs have him standing there, focusing hard on remaining upright. It doesn't leave much mental energy for him to actually reply to Her. 

She runs Her fingers through his hair, like one would to a small child. Her touch makes him feel disgusting, and he wishes that he could lobotomize himself to forget this. 

"I would kill you if I thought it would wreck him," Oranna says, hand patting his cheek. "However, you're more useful as a messenger than you would be a sacrifice. Sorry."

Talasseres manages to pull his cheek away from Her touch, and it takes one of Her goons to keep him upright after he does that monumental feat. He considers it a victory anyway. 

"Fuck. Off," he manages to say.

"Always the charmer," Oranna says. "It's a pity. I always was fond of you- or close enough. If I thought I had a chance of persuading you away, I'd offer you a place at my side."

Talasseres tries to spit at her, but it comes out more as a dribble. The goon holding him upright punches him in the stomach, and to his horror, his body doesn't start repairing itself. The pain remains. 

"I'm sorry, Tal," Oranna says, flicking open a knife. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt."

* * *

"Thank you both for what you did," God said. "If you hadn't come together like that, the consequences would have been unimaginable. I had never imagined that I could be betrayed by one of my saints, even by Her."

They were both still so weak, but they both wanted to show the King Undying that they weren't weak. 

He gave them both a hug, which was the weirdest thing Talasseres had experienced up until that point. Csorwe's pale grey face peeked out from the hug and for once, there was no malice between them. Maybe they were too tired for it.

God left them alone, and they collapsed onto the floor.

"It could have ended," Csorwe breathed, barely a whisper.

Talasseres moved his hand marginally closer to hers. Not touching, but there. 

* * *

Csorwe can't believe she misses Talasseres. In her nearly ten thousand years of existence, she's never missed Talasseres Charossa. 

But she doesn't have to try with him. He might treat her like she's an idiot, but he's never really made her feel like one.

Sometimes, she just wants to pick a fight just to feel something at all, and Talasseres is always the right man for that particular job. She even considers picking a fight with God, but the concept is inconceivable to her. 

It's not like she doesn't have reason- she had asked God to let her leave the Mithraeum, but he had sent Tal instead of her for this mission. It irked her, galled her, or it would if it wasn't God making the decision. 

And if anyone is going to hurt Tal or murder him, it should be her. She deserves it. Oranna doesn’t.

"They've found where Talasseres is," God comes crashing into the room where she's perfecting her skills with a two hander for the three thousandth time. "It doesn't seem good."

There's nothing more alarming than God seeming out of sorts. And he does! His hair is frazzled and his bathrobe is only barely preserving his modesty. She had walked in on him and Tal once, and that was more of God than she ever needed to see, thank you.

"What do you mean?" Csorwe asks. 

"I don't... I don't know," God says. "We need to meet the Cohort troops that recovered him."

"Change your clothes first," Csorwe says. And then adds: "My lord."

"Yeah, yes of course."

Csorwe beats him to the shuttle, only pausing to pick which of her weapons to take. She decides on the daggers and the two hander. Sometimes the simplest choice is best.

"You have come to care for each other, haven't you?" God asks in wonder.

Csorwe had beaten him to the shuttle and warmed it up, so there would be no delay. 

It's funny how you can spend ten thousand years together and not be known at all. 

* * *

God didn't touch him for a year after She left. At first, Talasseres thought it was because he was worried that he was still healing. Turns out draining all of your life energy is bad, even and especially for two lyctors. 

To show his readiness and fitness, he sprawled naked on God's desk. The thought had crossed his mind to do this on God's bed, but he only went into the chambers of the Necrolord Prime at his bidding and left as soon as their pleasure was complete. 

"Talasseres, please," God said. Not in the sexy, wanting way he sometimes did when they were fucking, but in a bored way. "I don't have the time for this right now."

"You need to relax," Tal said. "I just want to help."

"Maybe later," Sethennai said. "For now, get off my desk, please."

The embarrassment felt like burning as he got down off God's desk. Of course God stood there and watched as he pulled his clothes back on roughly. 

A year after She left, nearly to the day, God found him making food in the cafeteria. Talasseres couldn't cook to save his life, still. 

God came up behind him and pressed his lips to Tal's neck. His fingers dug into his hips as he ground against him, pressing him into the kitchen counter.

"Are you busy?" God asked.

It was nice of him to pretend to care whether or not he was busy, as if he had never interrupted him in the middle of something for sex. Talasseres turned around so he was facing God. It had been a while since he had gotten this close to him. 

Somehow God had grown older in this year, which was impossible because none of them aged anymore, but there was something in him that looked older. Of course, no matter what, God was the most attractive man he had ever laid eyes on. And Talasseres had had a lot of time to look at men.

The craziest thought that Talasseres had ever had crossed his mind: he could push God away and tell him  _ no _ . Tell him to fuck off for ignoring him for a year. 

But Talasseres was a weak man, and he had been so lonely this long year. He was in love with God, and it was a desperate, needy, embarrassing love that was overwhelming even still. He wanted to scream in God's face and tell him to fuck off, but he also wanted to have any bit of God that he could have. 

"Not busy unless you want some..." Talasseres had to check what he had been cooking. "Oatmeal?"

God smiled in a way that made Talasseres forget about the rotted parts of his heart. He wanted to bask in that smile for the rest of eternity. 

"I've had your cooking, Talasseres," God said. "You are much better in bed than in the kitchen."

Talasseres kissed God, and God kissed him back. The noises that Talasseres made were needy and wanting, and he could tell that God liked that. 

* * *

Talasseres is sitting in the Cohort shuttle. He's just sitting there, leaning against the wall with his arm bandaged up. His eyes are vacant, and he doesn't react when Csorwe enters the shuttle with God. 

"Tal?" Csorwe says dumbly. 

God is talking to the shuttle commander, but Csorwe can't hear them over the roaring in her ears. She kneels beside Tal. 

"Come on, say something nasty," Csorwe says. "Come on, you absolute asshole."

There's nothing. 

Csorwe carefully undoes his bandages. They shouldn't be necessary, but when the last bandage is pulled away, the wounds are still fresh. It looks like someone slashed at his arm wildly.

She remembers how to clean wounds from when she was fighting alongside the mortals of the Cohort. It's weird to do it to Tal, weird to do anything nice to him, but it doesn't feel like she's doing anything for Tal because he's just staring off. 

Plus, he would hate being taken care of by almost anyone, but her especially.

When the wound is cleaned, she realizes that the slashes aren't random. Instead, the wounds on his arm read "ORANNA" in big, jagged strokes. 

"My lord..." Csorwe says quietly as she cuts away his shirt to reveal more injuries. 

God's face darkens, even though they all knew who did this already. 

"If she can neutralize lyctor abilities, we will have to be even more careful," God says. 

"Can you help him, lord?" Csorwe asks. 

God frowns for a moment, looking uncertain. 

"We will find a way," he finally says. 

That has to be enough. 

Csorwe helps Tal to his feet, trying to decide if she should be gladdened he can stand or worried that he lets her help. They make it back to their shuttle slowly, and Csorwe can’t find it in her to be irritated at Tal for the delay. 

"She wants us to know that She's coming for us," Talasseres says in an empty voice when he’s seated again with a blanket wrapped around him. "She's going to kill God and take his place."

Sethennai comes to kneel in front of Talasseres, grabbing him gently by the shoulders. When Talasseres is looking at him, he smiles reassuringly. 

"Nobody is killing me, Tal," God says, "and She's not going to get Her hands on you again."

God turns away to pilot the ship, and Csorwe sits quietly in her seat, watching Tal. When Talasseres notices her watching and gives her the most withering look he can muster, which isn't very withering by his usual standards. 

By the time they make it back to the Mithraeum, Talasseres has healed completely and he's back on his feet, whatever drug Oranna injected him with having worn off. He paces restlessly around the enclosed shuttle, and when they disembark, Csorwe tries to take his arm off with her sword to make him feel at home. 

"You're a fucking menace," Talasseres says with his sword embedded in her thigh.

"Back at you, you shit."

* * *

Csorwe reinforced the wards on the Mithraeum a thousand times. She had never been the best necromancer of the lot, but she stalked around the Mithraeum and she reinforced the wards over and over anyway.

She had nightmares for decades after about the dinner that killed God (temporarily). Oranna had given no indication that she was going to snap and try to kill them, but now that Csorwe knew there was a threat to God, she had to do everything she could to keep him safe. 

For decades, whenever she closed her eyes, she saw God's dead face, and she had to get up and reinforce the wards. It was the only thing that she ever did that Talasseres didn't make fun of her for doing, not once. 

She went a week and a half without sleeping once, and not even a lyctor can do that without serious consequence, even with all the bodily manipulation in the universe. At first, it was little things- stumbling while training, a bit of a delay in healing herself when Tal shoved a knife in her throat, nothing too unfortunate.

Until she saw Taymiri as she was the last time Csorwe saw her: crying and begging for her existence. Csorwe tried to turn away this time, but there was nowhere to turn to. This impossible torture lasted for an eternity, only to be replaced with the woman who had caused all this.

Oranna stood before her, wearing one of the rather tight outfits she wore on special celebratory days. For some reason, they always made Tal more moody than normal, but Csorwe had always liked them. 

Csorwe stood dumbly in place as Oranna approached her. It was funny- this had been her nightmare, but now that it was here, she couldn’t remember why. She could barely remember her own name.

Oranna stalked by her and Csorwe watched her go, unable to do much to stop her. 

“Watch out!” Csorwe yelled in a slurred voice as God appeared around the corner.

God looked around in visible confusion before charging down the hall towards her. Oranna had disappeared, leaving Csorwe alone in the hallway with God in the kind of state that would have embarrassed her if she had the presence of mind to be embarrassed. 

“Csorwe, are you alright?” God asked.

Her natural impulse was to always be okay in front of God. She was his hand, his gestures, the instrument of his divine will, and he had more important things than to worry about her. 

The man had plucked her from nothing and raised her; the god had raised her even further into sainthood. She wanted to be worthy of all the investment he had made. However, since she could barely stand, pretending was far beyond her. 

“Can’t sleep,” Csorwe said, leaning against the wall.

She hit the floor suddenly, and God crouched beside her with a worried look on his face.

“You’re still upset by the attack,” God said.

Csorwe twisted her face at this, refusing to acknowledge that she had any weakness, but God saw through her. 

“I am keeping you safe. I promise,” God said. 

“You died, God. That’s what I keep seeing. I failed you.”

It was not an accusation or rebuke. She had lived for lifetimes in this untenable situation, and it was okay because it was in service of God. All the suffering, the death of her friend, all of it… all for nothing if God died. 

God surprised her for the first time she could remember clearly right then. He scooped her up into his arms, easily like he used to when she was a child and fell asleep by the fire. 

He carried her back to her room and laid her gently in bed. God smiled down at her, a kindly, distant smile, and he rested his hand on her forehead. 

“You and Talasseres saved me,” God said. “You need to rest. It’s okay. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Csorwe felt him rearranging parts of her brain, forcing her body into the rest it needed. Her body went gratefully into that good darkness, and she found unconsciousness. 

* * *

"If we are going to fight Her, we are going to need to expand our forces," God says. 

It is their communal dinner night. These dinners have gotten quieter over the centuries, most particularly since Talasseres was captured by Her. The sound of God's voice cuts through their aggressive and sad silence, startling them both. 

"What do you mean?" Csorwe is the one who answers God's broken silence.

"I will bring the scions of the nine houses back to Canaan House, and the worthy will rediscover lyctorhood," God says grandly. "Actually, I've already set everything into motion. You will have new brothers and sisters soon." 

Csorwe's ears roar again, and she doesn't know if she's delighted at the concept of someone to interact with other than God and Talasseres or horrified that new people will be trapped in here with them. 

It's an honor to be blessed by God, of course, but it's a horror, too. 

By now, she knows what every little look that flits across Talasseres’ face means and she knows that he's on the same page as she is. How unnatural, how often they agree.

God is looking at them expectantly, and it's Talasseres that recovers first. He raises his glass, and with a carefulness that earns him his title of Saint of Blandness, he says, "How exciting!" 

And they wait for the arrival of their new saints.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not originally mean for this to be so Talasseres-centric but uhhhh I love his hopeless and wretched devotion. 
> 
> @ A K Larkwood please give him a nice boyfriend who is nice in the next book im begging you


End file.
